Chasing Echoes of the Road Not Taken
by Sandrine Shaw
Summary: In the aftermath of the season three finale, Iris and Snart find some common ground. (Leonard Snart/Iris West, pre-Barry Allen/Leonard Snart/Iris West, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart (implied), Barry Allen/Iris West (implied))


**Chasing Echoes of The Road Not Taken**  
by Sandrine Shaw

The single left-over 'save the date' card for the wedding that Barry didn't deliver is still sitting on the couch table when Iris returns to the apartment.

Her dad's the one who picks up the card, fingers brushing over the flourished lettering. Her name and Barry's, silver on off-white. A date in November that seemed cautiously optimistic when she wrote the cards, uncertain about her own fate, and which now feels like the punchline of a bitter joke.

"I didn't know you sent those out already," her dad says quietly, voice full of emotion. "They're beautiful."

"Yeah. Barry delivered them the minute I showed them to him. He just rushed out and back with an empty box ten seconds later." She smiles at the memory, and for a moment she gets lost in the happiness of it: Barry's smug expression when he returned, her fake outrage over wasting money on stamps, the flood of joy when Barry gave her the ring back.

It takes her a minute to realize what it means, that all those invitations will have to be revoked. Dozens of people to inform that there's not going to be a wedding, and no way to tell most of them the truth, not unless they were already knee-deep in Flash business.

Watching Barry turn away from her and walk into the Speed Force was horrible, but it's only now that it fully sinks in that Barry really is gone. It's not just a temporary thing they can fight. He won't be back next week to discuss the seating plan for the reception or choose which bakery to order the wedding cake from. All this time they spent trying to save her from Savitar, fighting for a future she and Barry wanted so badly – only to have Barry being the one torn away from her, that future inadvertently collapsing into itself like a sloppily built house of cards.

Her dad puts the card back on the table, right where he took it from, laying it down with so much care as if it's something precious and breakable.

Iris wants to pick it up and tear it to pieces.

She chokes back a sob. "If I hadn't shot Savitar, none of this would have happened. We could have put him in the Speed Force prison and Barry wouldn't have had to... sacrifice himself. It's not fair!"

"You had no choice. He would have killed Barry and made himself into a god the way he intended, and then things would be even worse than they are now."

Rationally, she knows he's right, knows that in the moment she pulled the trigger, there was no other option left. But her dad's consoling, sympathetic tone, the pointless reassurances, grate on her nerves and make her snap at him. "How could things be any worse, Dad? Barry's _gone_. He's stuck in the Speed Force prison for all eternity to serve out some twisted sort of penance, and you and Cisco and Wally and Harry all just sit on your heels acting like there's nothing you can do. Like you've already given up on him. So forgive me if right now I don't really see a way this could possibly be any worse than it already is."

Her breath comes ragged and hard when she's finished hurling the words out, frustrated tears stinging in her eyes. That night after Barry disappeared, she'd spent hours crying and clinging to her dad, letting him hold her and take her back to her childhood home where she finally fell into an exhausted, nightmare-plagued sleep and woke up to a sense of disconnect from reality, like it was all just phantoms of a bad dream. But the overwhelming anguish of the first few hours is slowly giving way to resentment and helpless rage.

Her dad frowns. "Listen, sweetie, I know you're hurting, but you're not being fair. Cisco and Harry are trying everything they can to get Barry back. Your brother, too. And we will keep trying until we've exhausted every goddamn possibility. But until then you... we all have to deal without him."

He gently touches her shoulder and pulls her into a hug. She deflates against him, wiping at her eyes.

"Look, maybe you should take a break from Flash business for a while," he suggests cautiously, and her anger flares up anew.

She clamps down on it, pushes it into a back corner of her mind where it makes its home, ready to strike again. Just because her dad doesn't always understand what's best for her, that her loss won't get any easier to deal with if she acts like Barry's life as the Flash wasn't her life too, doesn't mean he deserves her to unleash all her frustration on him.

"We can't really afford to lose another team member right now." She doesn't mention Barry and H.R., or Caitlin who they haven't heard from since the funeral, or that Julian has barely been around lately. Her dad knows just as well as she does that Team Flash doesn't feel much like a team right now, just scattered remnants trying to hold it together while trying to protect Central City as well as they can. "We need to fix all the damage to S.T.A.R. Labs, and my little brother's out there putting on a suit and risking his life every day. I'm not going to walk away and pretend it's none of my business. That's not what Barry would have wanted, and it's not what I need right now."

The grudging nod of acceptance she gets in response is probably the best reaction she could hope for.

She looks around. There's still a broken window to replace, glass all over the floor, water damage on the floorboards.

Time to get started fixing the destruction the Speed Force had wrought, even if all Iris wants is to scream and cry and break things instead.

#

When the Waverider lands on the outskirts of Central City, Barry's been gone eleven weeks, two days and twelve hours.

There's a _situation_ , because of course there is. Evil speedsters and alien invasions and immortal psychopaths – it's always _something_ , and sometimes it's hard to keep track on where the crisis of the week ends and the next one begins.

The Legends file into the Cortex one by one, exchanging enthusiastic greetings with Cisco and introducing themselves to Wally and Harry. Stein steps around her brother to shake Iris' hand, and Sara levels a smile at her.

"And you must be the fiancée," she says, eyes roaming up and down Iris' body in a way that would make her blush if the words hadn't felt like a sucker punch.

She hasn't worn her engagement ring in weeks because it only lead to assumptions she hated to correct and questions she wasn't able to answer truthfully. No one's called her anyone's fiancée for a while now, and Sara's blunt statement makes her realize how much her friends have been tip-toeing around the subject, like walking on eggshells.

Iris forces a smile to her lips. "Iris West."

"Shouldn't that be Iris _Allen_? Or did I not miss the wedding after all? Don't tell me you got cold feet."

The familiar drawl makes her head snap around just in time to see Leonard Snart step through the door behind Rory and Ray, looking exactly the same as he did when Barry brought him back from the past to help them get the Speed Force bazooka, self-satisfaction radiating from him.

The _déjà-vu_ hit Iris right between the eyes.

Cisco twists around, eyes going comically wide. "Wait, you're—" He stops himself before finishing the sentence, looking like a deer in the headlights.

Snart zeroes in on him with a pinched expression. " _Dead_ , Cisco?" He pulls a face. "Turns out death's got nothing on me. No thanks to you and Barry. I'd have _appreciated_ a little heads-up before I got blown to bits. Not a fun experience."

Cisco flails under Snart's piercing glare. "Dude. You know we couldn't tell you. You've been time-traveling for long enough to know that changing the past is a big no-no. Do not go there, here there be dragons, etc."

"Or dinosaurs," Rory comments drily from where he's taken a seat on one of the swivel chairs, boots up on the desk, precariously close to the computer screen. Cisco momentarily looks torn between wanting to shove him off and fear for his life should he attempt to do so, before Rory's words sink in.

"Wait, did you say _dinosaurs_?! You're kidding, right?"

Stein launches into an explanation of how they'd apparently managed to accidentally break time and make present day and the Cretaceous collide, with Ray and Nate enthusiastically jumping into the conversation to add helpful dinosaur facts while Cisco and Wally look like two kids who just found out that Santa Claus is real after all.

Iris stays in the background, idly keeping track of the bickering and science babble without joining in, relieved that the conversation got derailed. It's nice to see the Cortex crowded again, the gloomy mood that's been hanging around for months now lifting and laughter filling the air.

She's enjoying the reprieve, however temporary it might be, when she notices Snart's eyes searching the room. Her stomach plummets, because she knows what's coming, knows what he's going to ask even before his lips form the question.

"So where's the Scarlet Speedster hiding?"

The room falls into awkward, painful silence, all the lightness and joviality drained at once, sucked out of the room as if someone had pressed a button. It's so quiet that you could hear a pin drop, and all Iris wants to do is scream.

No one says a word, but Iris can pinpoint the exact moment when Snart draws the unfortunate conclusion from the reaction he's getting. He's not someone who shows a lot of emotion, and it only takes a second or two until he schools his features back into an expressionless mask. But for a brief moment it's there: naked pain rippling across his face, a grief that echoes deep inside her. It burrows underneath the anger and breaks open all the things she's been trying to hold in check for so long.

Snart's eyes meet hers across the room, and suddenly she needs to get away from here as fast as she can.

"I'm sorry, I can't—" she begins, pushing past Cisco and Harry and almost running into Ray on her way out. The panic builds inside her, clenching her lungs and rising up her throat, choking her up.

#

They save the day, the way they always do, and this time there are no sacrifices.

It should be a good thing, Iris knows. Every victory that comes without loss is a cause for celebration, but it all feels hollow to her now. She's just so tired that it never ends. Thawne and the Singularity and Zoom and Savitar, an endless string of hostile metas. They've given _so much_ , but it just goes on and on and on.

If every battle they win doesn't get them any closer to ending the war, then all their losses are for nothing.

Snart finds her later in an empty corridor at S.T.A.R. Labs, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall. She wonders if he's here by chance, if he's just snooping around, casing the building, or if he's been looking for her. Part of her wants to snap at him, but then she remembers the haunted look on his face earlier and makes herself offer a small, brittle smile instead.

He seems to take it as an invitation to sit down next to her.

There are a good two feet of space between them, but something about the position is oddly comforting. Something about the idea of being comforted by _Captain Cold_ is deeply absurd, almost paradoxical, but he helped Barry to try and save her from Savitar without asking questions or demanding anything in return, and Barry cared about him, in a way she never quite understood.

Snart's the one who breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry." His tone is cool but serious, no trace of mockery in his voice, and the sentiment feels genuine.

Iris nods a silent thank you.

It's easier than usually when people offer sympathy because Snart's beside her, sitting at an angle where avoiding eye-contact is nothing that takes effort or would be construed as rude. Unless either of them deliberately turns their head, they're just looking at the opposite wall. She stares ahead, relieved to be missing the distinct weight of someone else's pair of eyes on her.

Perhaps that's why he chose this position. It seems such a typical Leonard Snart thing to do that it almost makes her smile.

"He'd be happy that you're... back," she offers tentatively, wanting to fill the silence between them with words before he can. At least this way, she can direct the conversation along a path that's less painful. "He wanted to tell you about what was going to happen, you know? When he got you to break into A.R.G.U.S. He couldn't risk changing the past again, but he really wanted to."

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches the movement of Snart shrugging. "Knew something was up. Barry went through a lot of trouble to find me in the past. He wasn't exactly hiding that he came from 2017."

Iris wonders if that was a deliberate choice on Barry's account. If he tried to find a loophole, some way to undo Snart's death without actively altering the past. Except, of course, it would still have been his doing; all it would have done would have been to skirt accountability. It doesn't matter. From what she understood, Snart being suspicious didn't change anything. He still died at the Vanishing Point. That the Oculus eventually put him back into the timeline had nothing to do with Barry's lack of secrecy.

She's contemplating Snart's miraculous return to the living and how Barry would have reacted if he knew, the way his face would light up in a way that never failed to make a similar happiness echo inside of her, and the memory only pulls her deeper into the maelstrom of nostalgia and loss. When Snart speaks again, she jumps a little.

"I'll be sticking around Central City for a bit. Check in on my sister, play house a little. See what else has changed since I left."

It could almost be a warning, except for the apprehension in his tone that Iris is at a loss how to interpret.

"Is that your way of telling us we should expect Captain Cold to pull a heist soon?" This time, she does turn towards him, eyebrow raised.

Snart inclines his head. "Maybe." He stretches the word, and his lips twitch. "Just pointing out, if my _particular set of skills_ is needed, you know where to find me. No need to send Baby Flash off to travel into the past for me."

The offer takes her by surprise, and she can't help but feel a stab of pain when she thinks about how excited Barry would be by Snart voluntarily offering his help.

"Good to know," she says quietly, watching him push himself up from the floor.

He tips his imaginary hat when he turns to go. "Miss West."

She feels lighter, afterwards. Some of her anger is dulled, and she doesn't understand why because nothing has changed. But being angry all the time was exhausting, and she's too tired to question it.

#

Snart hits a restaurant that doubles as a front for a mob gambling den and kicks Kid Flash's ass when he tries to stop him from taking off with a few hundred thousand dollars. Iris is at S.T.A.R. Labs, listening in to the audio feed from the coms, wincing along with Cisco every time the Cold Gun goes off and Wally yelps.

When he returns, though, the only notable injury is to his ego. "I don't get it," he complains. "The guy doesn't even have any meta powers. He should be easy to catch."

"Um, are you forgetting the highly effective, not to mention _brilliantly engineered_ superweapon he has? Don't worry about it, dude, it's not like Barry's track record with Cold has been spotless."

Cisco's attempts to cheer him up are met by a frown. "Yeah, but you guys always made it sound like Barry wasn't really trying all that hard because he had some weird sort of soft spot for him."

"What? No," Cisco splutters, scandalized, but Iris thinks Wally's suggestion wasn't that far off the mark. She remembers Christmas two years ago, Leonard Snart breaking into her dad's house literally the day after his escape from prison. How he was bickering about marshmallows and remained utterly unfazed when Barry pushed him against the mantelpiece, and Barry never made a move to stop him when Snart walked out of the front door.

She's so lost in memories that she doesn't pay attention to the conversation until she realizes that all eyes are on her. "What?"

The look Wally gives her is awkward. "Um. He asked about you. When I was following him down the tunnels in the basement and the coms cut off."

Every head in the room is turned towards Iris, and she can feel heat rising to her cheeks. "About me?"

"Yeah. He wanted to know how you were. I first thought it was some kind of threat or a diversion, but... I don't know, he looked like he meant it."

"Maybe he did," she says before she can stop herself.

There would have been a time when she'd have laughed the idea off. Early on, when Barry was already fully on board the 'there's good in Snart' train, and she privately thought her dad was right in calling Barry a hopeless optimist. And maybe she's nothing to Snart. All they ever had in common was Barry, and Barry's gone. But Snart had gone out of his way, literally, to find her and offer some sort of comfort the other week after the mission with the Legends, like there's some level of understanding. Like _losing Barry_ is another thing they might have in common, and Iris isn't sure if she wants to think too hard about what that means.

Cisco gives her a _look_ and groans. "Not you, too. Why's everyone getting mushy over Captain Cold? First Barry, now you."

"Hey, he's the one who asked if I was okay, not the other way around," Iris protests.

"Yeah, well, just because it's mutual mushiness doesn't really make it better. Are we forgetting that he just robbed someone?"

"To be fair, it was the mob he robbed," Wally points out. "Not like they didn't deserve it."

The look of utter betrayal Cisco shoots him makes Iris wish she had her phone ready to take a picture. It distracts her enough to be able to shove away the warmth she feels at the thought of Snart stopping to ask Wally mid-fight if she was okay.

She never asks Wally what he answered. If he told Snart it wasn't any of his business, or if he lied and shrugged and said, 'yeah, sure', like she lies when people ask her if she's alright. If Snart saw through the lie the same way she knows everyone else does.

#

The next time Iris sees Snart, she's most decidedly not okay.

The blood on her forehead is already drying, a persistent itchy sensation that only adds to the pain pulsating underneath her brow. She wants to rub the spot, but her arms are tied behind her back, the handcuffs tight enough that they're chafing against her wrist and cutting off her circulation.

Her fingers feel numb. Her shoulders strain. The headache is getting worse by the minute.

In terms of how problems go, none of that's quite on par with the angry mobster straddling a chair opposite her, loosely dangling his gun from his hand while asking her who she's been talking to, or the three goons who linger in the background, leering at her in a way that makes her skin prickle.

 _CCPD officers burying evidence in mob crime investigation_ is a good headline. The story might potentially have gained her some recognition, perhaps even a pay raise, but it's not really worth dying for. Unfortunately, it turns out that Bobby Santini seems to think it's worth killing for.

Clearly, she'd been asking the right questions, got a little too close to the truth, and a meeting with an informant turned out to be a trap. Which is how she found herself waking up tied to a chair in what looks like one of the old warehouses near the harbor, as far as she can make out her surroundings.

"Look, my father's a detective with the CCPD and he knows all about my investigation, so if you're thinking that shooting me and dumping my body is gonna bury this story, you'd better think again." Her bravado is as false as the story she's spinning for Santini. Her dad has no clue. He'd mentioned that he was worried about some evidence that had gone missing, but she didn't exactly tell him that she'd followed the thread and found a cover-up rather than sloppy police work, nor that she'd been stepping on the feet of the mob.

She should have told him. She would have told Barry. If Barry was still around, she'd have been out of those cuffs already, and Santini and his crew would be stewing in Iron Heights. But Barry's gone, and it's no one's fault but her own that she didn't trust anyone else enough to fill them in, that she thought she could do this without any backup.

Santini smiles with all the warmth of a shark ready to strike. "Girl, you can't lie your tight little ass out of this. We know who your daddy is. If he knew about any of this, his cop friends would have been knocking on our doors before you could get yourself in trouble."

He gestures at her with the gun – just pointing, not even a threat. But the casual nature of the motion suggests that he doesn't deem it necessary to make threats, that this has already gone far beyond intimidation. Iris swallows hard.

"You know what I think? I think you were chasing this story all by yourself, hoping to make a splash. Didn't want to share it with anyone. And isn't that fortunate for me?"

A door creaks and the echo of footsteps sounds through the warehouse. Iris wonders who's coming now, if they're going to bring in someone to torture her or if they'll just shoot her and get rid of the evidence. She only realizes that Santini doesn't seem to be expecting company when he bellows an order at one of his henchmen, telling him to check out who's making the noise.

A minute later there's a crash and a shriek, and Santini jumps up, turning into the direction of the door. A shiver runs up Iris' spine that she puts down to nerves rather than an actual sudden drop in temperature until Leonard Snart steps out from behind a stack of crates in full Captain Cold gear. The Cold Gun points straight at Santini, the blue glow turning the room into an eerie pale light.

"Well, well, well, Bobby. I know daddy dearest didn't teach you proper manners, but even you gotta know that this ain't the way to treat a lady." He quickly looks at Iris, but she can't make out his expression behind the opaque goggles.

"What the hell is this, Cold?"

Santini's still hazardously waving his gun around. He's red-faced with rage but Iris thinks she can see the beginnings of panic underneath. _Good_ , she thinks vindictively. It takes her a moment to realize that even though the adrenaline is still pumping through her veins, the mind-numbing fear from earlier subsided the moment Snart entered the scene.

There's no time to examine that reaction, not when one of Santini's crew members is clearly getting twitchy. Snart spares him a quick side-eyed gaze. "You go for that gun, you lose that hand."

The guy doesn't heed the warning, pulling the gun out of his waistband. He barely has the chance to raise it before a stream of ice shoots out in his direction, enclosing his gun hand. The cry he releases is inhuman, echoing from the walls and crates around them, and even though Iris has no sympathy for him, she winces.

Snart, in contrast, seems utterly unfazed as he turns back around. "Anyone care for an encore? I hear ice statues are all the rage in Central this year."

Henchman no.2 evidently has no interest in having his limbs iced off, because he just turns and runs, his frozen-handed friend scrambling after him. Snart barely pays them any attention, not turning his eyes from Santini, who still has his gun pointed at Snart and seems to be gauging his chances.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Snart warns.

There's a tense moment, the two of them locked in a silent battle of wills, before Santini drops his gun arm. "Yeah, you're right," he offers jovially. "Stupid journalist cunt's not worth this mess. No hard feelings, man."

If Iris wasn't looking straight at Snart, she'd have missed him clenching his jaw at Santini's comment, fingers tightening around the handle of his Cold Gun. She _does_ almost miss the moment Santini jerks his arm back up, clearly thinking he can get a shot in faster than Snart can pull the trigger.

Everything happens at once. A gunshot rings through the warehouse. The Cold Gun flashes. Goosebumps rise along her arms. Someone screams.

It takes Iris an endless moment until she realizes that it was her making that sound, her throat raw and her lungs on fire. Santini's shot must have gone wide, because Snart doesn't seem to be hurt. He lowers the gun, casually stepping past the frozen body on the floor as he moves towards Iris.

He crouches down behind her to get her out of the handcuffs. His gloved hands are icy against her bruised skin, making her jump involuntarily when he holds her wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip, but all of her attention remains focused on Santini's corpse. He really does look like an ice statue, completely encased from head to toe. It's gruesome and fascinating and, in a horrific way, beautiful, and Iris can't look away.

The handcuffs come off and clatter to the asphalt floor. A sharp pain shoots down Iris' arms when she moves them to her front, rubbing the soreness out of her wrists with shaking fingers.

"Thank you." She's painfully aware of how inadequate those words are. If Snart hadn't stepped in, she'd probably be dead now, unless Santini had decided to have some fun with her first, and she doesn't even want to contemplate all the terrible ways this could have ended.

Snart steps around the chair, a cool smirk on his lips. He pulls his goggles from his eyes and gives her a speculative look. "Let me guess, you're gonna give me a lecture about killing people now."

Apparently, the way she's been eyeing Santini's body hasn't been lost on him. She doesn't really blame him for drawing the wrong conclusions, considering the deal he struck with Barry. But that was a long time ago and a lot has happened since. And Santini was hardly an innocent by any measure of the word.

"That would make me quite a hypocrite. Though I guess no one told you what happened to Savitar."

She isn't sure what she's doing, why she's telling him this. What point she's trying to make.

Truth is, she isn't proud of what she did. She still has nightmares about it: taking a life – especially the life of someone who used to be Barry, who'd worn Barry's face and felt like Barry when she touched him. She's under no illusion that Snart will be equally conflicted about turning Santini into a human-sized icicle, but just because killing comes easier for him doesn't mean it was any less necessary than when she pointed the gun at Savitar and pulled the trigger.

When she finally tears her eyes away from the human block of ice on the floor, Snart is regarding her curiously. "Why, Miss West, aren't you full of surprises?"

Underneath the sarcastic drawl, it almost sounds appreciative, and Iris realizes that this reaction is exactly what she was courting with her reveal, even if she doesn't understand why it should matter to her what Snart thinks of her.

It only comes to her attention that she's still cradling her right wrist when he reaches out and gingerly pulls it from her hold, turning it upwards and inspecting the damage. There's some chafed skin, blooming red bruises that will probably swell up. Snart's thumb traces one of the angry crimson lines, so gentle that it's almost a caress.

"You should put some ice on that."

His lips twitch, and Iris huffs out a laugh.

"Really, Snart, thank you," she says again, hoping that this time she'll manage to convey her sincerity.

He inclines his head a fraction, a subtle, silent acknowledgment, before adding: "Don't mention it." The way he drags out the words makes Iris think he's being very literal and would indeed prefer if she didn't ruin his reputation by sharing stories of his heroics. It does make her wonder.

"How did you find me?"

The real question, of course, is _why_ he went to find her in the first place. Why is it a one-man rescue team consisting of Captain Cold that's coming to save her rather than Wally or even her dad and a squad team?

Snart shrugs, like it's no big deal. "I was early for a business meeting with Santini. Heard rumors that he was busy dealing with a nosy reporter asking the wrong kinda questions. Sounded like someone I know."

Iris isn't quite sure what to do with that information. On the one hand, _of course_ Snart's doing business with the mob, and his playing white knight was more accidental than anything. But then again, killing a business partner to save her life is an uncharacteristically selfless act, and she wouldn't have expected him to prioritize her well-being over a score.

"Sorry for ruining your meeting," she offers, keeping her judgment over his choice in associates to herself.

"Don't worry about it. Never liked the guy anyway."

Between the tightness of his jaw and the tense lines of his shoulders, Iris knows his indifference is all for show. Snart might not be shedding any tears over Santini's death, but killing the cousin of Central City's top mobster isn't exactly going to go down well with the families.

"This is going to make problems for you, isn't it?"

"None that I can't handle."

He looks around. "I'd better get going before the cops arrive. There's an outstanding warrant or two with my name on it, and I doubt your father's colleagues will share your unexpected moral flexibility."

"You forget that you've got a witness who can attest that you were acting in self-defense," Iris gently reminds him.

Snart pulls a grimace. "You'll forgive me if I'm not willing to take that risk. Don't worry, Santini's guys are not gonna bother you anymore."

Both their heads turn to the horizon where a tell-tale streak of yellow lightning signals the imminent arrival of Kid Flash. "Ah, and there comes the cavalry. I'll see you around."

He turns to leave, melting into the shadows and disappearing before she has the chance to ask what he meant about the mob leaving her alone. She wipes the blood-matted hair from her forehead and tries to think of a good way to tell her dad what happened without him going into cardiac arrest about the risk she took for her story, or to throw a fit about _Captain Cold_ coming to her rescue.

#

Snart shows up on her doorstep the same night.

It's half past ten, and she's curled up on the couch with a cup of tea, staring at the blank document that's been open on her laptop screen for two hours now. The blinking cursor is mocking her, reminding her that the story's hit a little too close to home, after all. Her wrists are still aching, even though she eventually followed Snart's tongue-in-cheek advice.

Her tea's long since gone cold, and she's almost glad for the distraction when the doorbell rings. She doesn't know who she's expecting. Her dad, perhaps, or even Cisco. Someone from the CCPD with follow-up questions. Maybe even Mrs. Sayid from 5B, who's been over every other week since Barry's disappearance, trying to cheer Iris up with homemade apple crumble and board games. It's a little past the old lady's bed time, though, and anyway, Iris isn't sure if she's in the mood for another round of 'that boy of yours didn't deserve you, packing up and running as soon as you had the wedding fixed' tonight.

Turns out there's no need to worry, because when she pulls the door open, it's not a kind old woman with baked goods on her doormat.

Snart smirks, and gives a cheeky little wave. "Miss West."

"Hey. I— How—"

Growing up a cop's daughter and someone who's been involved in Flash business for years, not to mention an investigative reporter, she's long since stopped being surprised at casual run-ins with Central City's criminals, but it's a different matter when they're right here in her private space. Then again, Snart's not just any common criminal anymore, and even if he seems out of place in the slick, bourgeois neighborhood, she can't say she genuinely minds the visit. She shakes her head and smiles. "Sorry, I'm just surprised you know how to ring a doorbell instead of resorting to breaking and entering. What are you doing here?"

He shrugs. "I was in the area. Thought I'd check in with you, see how you're doing. Today was a bit... exciting. Hardly your everyday kind of adventure, even when you're part of Team Flash."

His explanation startles a quiet chuckle out of her. She doesn't for a second believe that he just happened to have business nearby, but there's no point in calling him on the lie. He'd only shut down and leave. It's not without surprise that she realizes she doesn't want that.

"Right." She steps aside. "You wanna come in? Have a cup of cocoa? I might even have some of those marshmallows you like lying around somewhere."

It's easy to tell that he didn't expect the offer. Bemusement ripples across his face before the familiar mask of aloofness slips into place. "Why, Miss West, inviting a – how did you put it?" He pretends to think about it for a moment before snapping his fingers, and wow, could he be any more ridiculous? "Ah, yes, _homicidal maniac_ into your home? Now is that wise?"

He doesn't wait for her to reconsider her invitation though, pushing past her into the apartment. The cold night air clings to his parka, and a shiver runs down her naked arm when it brushes against the cool, damp fabric.

"Call me naive, but I think I'm gonna be fine," she comments drily, closing the door after him. "And it's Iris. You saved my life, so we can skip the formalities."

When she turns to him, he's standing in the middle of the living room, looking around curiously.

"Nice place."

There's something about his tone that suggests that it's more than idle small-talk. She follows his eyes, wondering what he's seeing, if he noticing Barry's presence – or maybe his _absence_ – here in the same way she does. Probably not. There's no reason why he should. It's not like he's ever even been here before or had the chance of seeing Barry in these surroundings. But she doesn't fail to notice the way his gaze lingers on a photo of her and Barry on the window sill.

It's an old one from before they were even dating, before she thought of Barry as a romantic possibility, but it's hard to mistake the fondness in the way they're looking at each other for anything but love, both of them all smiles and unaware of Caitlin's phone capturing the moment.

Iris loves the picture, but she can't look at it without being overwhelmed by nostalgia and sadness. She hugs herself and rubs her hands over her upper arms, suddenly freezing.

"Barry got it for us for Christmas last year. I loved it since the minute I first set foot in here. And now I can't bring myself to move out, even though I can barely afford the lease." Which is probably more information than Snart expected when he commented on the loft.

Iris quickly presses on, changing the subject before he has the chance to respond. Truth is, she doesn't want to hear some sort of smart-ass quip about this, but what she wants even less is sympathy, and she doesn't think she could handle a genuine emotional response from Snart. Not if his expression when he heard about Barry is anything to go by. "Sit down. I'll see about that hot chocolate."

"Actually, I'll have a beer if you got any."

"Sure."

She takes two out of the refrigerator and pops them open. When she returns from the kitchen area, Snart's sitting on the couch, bent forward to look at her laptop. She pointedly clears her throat. Anyone else might jerk back at the idea of being caught snooping, but he only levels a sardonic grin at her.

"Writing going well?" He points towards the open Word document that's still devoid of any actual words.

"Yeah, turns out being thrown into the trunk of a car and held at gunpoint kind of puts a damper on objectivity. Who'd have thought?"

She contemplates the chair for a moment before deciding against it, sliding onto the couch next to Snart and handing over a beer. The glass is icy and wet with condensation, and she only notices how cold her fingers have grown when his hand brushes hers as he takes the bottle, the warmth of the contact sending a jolt through her.

Snart leans back against the throw pillows, idly twisting the bottle in his hands, restless fingers tearing at the label. He doesn't look at her, until he suddenly does, and something about the intensity of his stare makes it impossible to break the eye contact.

"How are you doing?"

"That's the second time you've asked after me. Careful, Snart, or I might think you actually care about my well-being."

The twitch of his lips suggests he's well aware that she's stalling, even if he doesn't call her on it. "Thought we were on a first name basis."

" _Leonard_ , then." She stretches the name, testing it out.

It should be weird, calling Captain Cold by his first name. But then, everything about this situation is surreal. She's sitting on her couch making small-talk and sharing a beer with one of Central's most notorious super-villains after he stopped some asshole from blowing her brains out earlier today, and none of it feels as awkward as it should.

Barry would get a kick out of this. She remembers berating him after he'd let Sna— Leonard go, the day he broke into her dad's house to warn Barry about Mardon. Barry got that embarrassed, awkward look, rubbing the back of his neck and telling her, "Look, I know it's— Snart talks a big game, and he's a pain in the ass when he's shooting at me with that stupid gun of his, but he's not a bad guy. I mean, I know he's a villain, but there's good in him. I know there is. You saw it yourself, he didn't have to warn me. And it's not like he got anything in return." And she remembers how happy he was working with Leonard when they broke into A.R.G.U.S., the way his face had lit up despite the direness of the situation.

It's not a big step from there to imagine Barry's reaction to coming home tonight and finding this tableau in front of him. It's a bittersweet thought, because Barry isn't going to come home, not tonight or any other night.

Iris pulls her feet up on the couch and tucks her legs under her, half-turning towards Leonard.

"I'm okay." It's a lie, and one she's told too many times over the last few months and is tired of telling, so she tries again: "With what happened today, I mean. I'm a bit shaken up, and I know it could have... probably _would have_ ended badly if you hadn't interfered, but it's a risk I know I'm taking when I do my job."

"Always willing to risk your life for a good cause. How noble of you," he mocks, taking a swig from the bottle without turning his eyes away from her.

Iris snorts. That's rich, coming from him. "Says the man who died sacrificing himself for his team."

It's satisfying to watch him wince in response, like he'd honestly forgotten for a moment that he's hardly the selfish villain he used to be. "Touché."

"I thought Barry was out of his mind, you know. When he was telling me that there was good in you. That there was more to you than some homicidal maniac with a fancy gun who only cared about money and wasn't beyond fucking over everyone who got in his way."

He frowns at her, clearly not happy with where this is going. "I'm no —" he starts, but she cuts him off. She doesn't need him to finish the protest, already knowing what he's going to say.

"Don't bother giving me the 'I'm not a hero' spiel. We both know it's not that black and white, and that you're pretty comfortable in the shades of gray. I'm not trying to turn you into something you're not, don't worry. I'm just saying... Barry would have liked this side of you. He always saw the potential for it, and I'm just— It's good to realize that he was right."

Leonard carefully sets the beer down on the table, and Iris is half-convinced that he'll get up and leave, the same way he didn't stick around after Barry called him on being a lousy villain for having the honor to try and settle his scores. But when he turns back towards her, he makes no move to stand. All he does is watch her with an inscrutable expression, blue eyes burning into hers until she wants to squirm away under the scrutiny.

She doesn't notice that she's biting her lip until his eyes flicker down to her mouth, and when he looks up again the heat in his gaze takes her breath away.

His movements are slow and measured when he reaches out a hand and touches her face, like he wants to give her plenty of time to move away. Like he _expects_ her to move away. And she should; she knows she should. She doesn't, though – not when his knuckles brush over her cheek, not when his fingers curve around the back of her neck, not when he's pulling her in.

And then she's being kissed with the same drawn-out, measured precision, and she can't stop herself from responding, mouth opening readily under his. It feels unreal. And yet, in a paradoxical kind of way, it's the first thing that's felt real in months.

When Leonard pulls away, she instinctively follows him, but he sits back and puts distance between them. Something flashes on his face, gone too quick for her to identify it, and then his expression becomes closed off again.

He rushes to get up, almost knocking over the bottle on the table in the process.

"I gotta go."

His exit distinctly lacks his usual grace and flourish, a hasty, awkward scramble. Iris doesn't stop him. Her heart is beating up a storm. She doesn't turn to watch Leonard leave, only jumps a little when she hears the front door fall shut.

She doesn't get up for a long time, sitting curled into herself, her thoughts racing.

#

The Monday morning queue at _Jitters_ curves almost up to the front door, everyone anxious for their coffee fix, trying to prolong the weekend by just a few more minutes before they brave the upcoming week.

The place is crowded, and ever since he picked her up at her place half an hour ago, Wally's been talking Iris' ear off about some shiny new car that caught his eye. Maybe that's why she's too distracted to notice that the pretty brunette waiting in line in front of her looks just a little too familiar.

It only starts to sink in that she's been staring at the back of _Lisa Snart_ 's head for the past fifteen minutes when Leonard sidles up to his sister, looking vaguely harassed as he pushes through the crowd.

"Care to explain why you wanted to meet here? I know for a fact that you got a perfectly functional coffee machine at home," he sneers and, wow, Captain Cold is decidedly less _chill_ before his morning coffee.

Lisa's silvery laughter, a bit too loud than strictly appropriate in a public setting, fills the air. "Aww, Lenny, don't be like that. Don't blame me for wanting to spend _quality time_ with my big brother who's recently returned from the dead. You know you owe me, so stop whining."

They bicker back and forth between them for a while, uncaring or perhaps unaware of their audience. Leonard doesn't acknowledge Iris, his back turned towards her, and she thinks she can maybe escape this encounter quietly when they reach the front of the queue and Lisa cheerfully gives the barista her order.

"A Venti black coffee for my brother here, and for me a Flash. On ice." There's no mistaking the absolute glee in her voice, and Iris would bet good money that it's her regular order, with no regards to whether it's iced coffee season or not.

Next to her, Wally snorts. "Oh _come on_ , you've gotta be kidding me," he mutters under his breath, not as quietly as he probably intended.

Both the Snarts' heads snap towards him.

"Excuse me?" Lisa asks, looking put off. She taxes Wally with a look that would probably make Mick Rory cringe.

Leonard, meanwhile, barely pays Wally any mind, his attention drawn to Iris. A series of complicated emotions flitters across his face, and Iris realizes that he's every bit as unprepared for this encounter as she is. It's a comforting thought. His expression finally settles into something neutral and he gives her a curt nod. "Iris."

"Leonard."

Distractedly, she places her own order, the hassled-looking barista drumming her nails on the counter when Iris takes too long to tear herself away from the conversation and choose her drink.

"You know each other?" Suddenly she finds herself under Lisa's narrow-eyed scrutiny, and it's a little like being taken apart piece by piece. "Oh, wait, I've seen you before, haven't I? Aren't you one of Cisco's friends? Well now, that's awkward," Lisa says with the lofty confidence of someone who, Iris is sure, never found anything awkward in her whole life.

She knows she's not being quite fair. Lisa had been dealt a rough hand – both her and Leonard, really. She's been through a lot with her father, and the easy swagger and salacious smiles are probably all front, but Iris can't help but find her intimidating, in a way her brother isn't. Or isn't to Iris, anyway.

"And who might that strapping young gentleman be?"

Iris almost jumps between them in defense when Lisa reaches out towards Wally, but all she does is brush some non-existent lint off his shoulder, smirking when an obvious flush turns his cheeks darker.

"He's her brother. _Detective_ West's son." Leonard stretches her father's job title, like that might warn his sister away. Iris could be wrong, but from what she knows about Lisa, she suspects it would be an incentive rather than a deterrent. "Bit too young for you to toy with, don't you think, sis?"

"Well, you're certainly well-informed. I didn't think you were quite that cozy with the Flash's little friends these days. Fraternizing with the enemy, Lenny?"

Lisa raises an eyebrow at him, but the surprise on her face looks false, and beneath it there's calculation and an odd kind of satisfaction, like she caught her brother in a lie or with his hands in the proverbial cookie jar.

It's Iris turn to blush. 'Fraternizing with the enemy' hits a little too close to home. Leonard's face doesn't give anything away, but she doubts that Lisa will miss the fact that he's pointedly not looking in Iris' direction.

She's almost glad that all attention snaps to Wally a second later because he thinks he needs to protest the moral integrity of Team Flash. "He's not our friend. We almost caught him robbing some mob joint the other month. I mean, not me. Kid Flash did. I just heard about it from Cisco, but apparently it was one hell of a fight."

Iris all but groans, and the exasperated look on Leonard's face tells her that he's wondering how any of them ever managed to keep a secret identity secret. Her gaze flickers towards him when she addresses Lisa. "You know your brother. He keeps playing all sides until something's got to give."

She's surprised when it earns her a laugh that sounds unexpectedly genuine. "Ah, yes, that sounds exactly like Lenny." Lisa takes her Iced Flash from the counter top, noisily sucking a gulp of coffee through the straw, ice cubes clattering against plastic.

Leonard reaches around her, and Iris is only half-surprised when he hands her and Wally their cups first before taking his own.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," he drawls. He could be referring to Lisa's statement, but his eyes are on Iris, gleaming with unabashed amusement, and it teases an involuntary smile out of her.

"Depends on what that _something_ that's going to give is, I guess." She holds Leonard's gaze for a fraction too long, taken in by the heat in his blue eyes that doesn't quite match the persona he carved for himself.

When she turns away, she notices the speculative way Lisa is looking between them. It makes her wince and feel a little sorry for Leonard, who will doubtlessly find himself at the receiving end of a thorough grilling tonight that might even put her dad's interrogations to shame. She wouldn't want to be in his shoes.

He doesn't seem to be bothered by it, though, no tension in his stance or his tone when he bids them a playful goodbye. "Well, it's been fun, but you know how it is. Places to be, people to rob. Don't let your coffee get cold."

He turns to go, and Lisa follows, but not before sending a shark-like smile and a teasing wave Iris' way and blowing a kiss to Wally that makes him stare after her with wide-eyed wonder.

As soon as the Snarts are out of earshot, her brother turns to Iris, stage-whispering, "Damn, did you just threaten Captain Cold? That's ballsy." He sounds a little awed.

Iris laughs. There's no way Leonard could have mistaken her comment for a threat, and she's sure neither did Lisa, but there's no reason to correct Wally in his assumption, as long as it keeps him from telling their father that his big sister was flirting with a super-villain.

#

 _Saints and Sinners_ is not the kind of establishment Iris would choose for socializing, but she's been here plenty of times before to meet sources, shady figures from Central's criminal underbelly and high profile informants who preferred an environment where they wouldn't be recognized. That's not why she came to the bar tonight, though. There's no pre-arranged meeting this time, nothing scheduled into her calendar in the office.

She scans the room the moment she steps inside, well-aware of the fact that every pair of eyes in the place is on her, that even though she's dressed to blend in, she still sticks out like a sore thumb.

It's a Saturday night and the place is crowded. In the murky lighting and the smokey air, it's hard to make out faces. She scans the people at the bar and at the pool table, careful not to let her gaze linger too long on any of the patrons so her scrutiny won't be mistaken for interest of the wrong kind. And any kind of interest is the wrong kind, in a place like this.

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" someone asks behind her, and there's a moment when her hackles rise at the crude line before the familiarity of the drawl registers.

She turns to find Leonard watching her with mocking amusement on his face, eyes trailing down her body in a once-over that's too swift and fleeting to be deliberately suggestive but nevertheless brings a flush to her cheeks, the memory of that kiss making her lips tingle.

Leonard looks more relaxed than he usually does. Perhaps because he's on his own turf, and not in the middle of a fight. _Saints and Sinners_ always sets her on edge, but she imagines it might have the opposite effect on him. He's not wearing his Captain Cold gear, black leather jacket instead of his parka and no Cold Gun in sight, but she assumes he's still packing heat. Even if he's off the clock, it's hard to believe that Leonard Snart is the kind of guy who walks around unarmed.

Her lips twitch. "Looking for a guy with a particular set of skills."

"Sounds like I'm your man." If he's surprised that she's here for him, he doesn't let on. Whatever awkwardness stretched between them at the abrupt conclusion of their encounter at her apartment, he's clearly shaken it off.

He steers her towards one of the corner booths where they can talk without being overheard. The waitress comes and takes their drink order, and Iris can tell that he's startled, but not unpleasantly so, when she orders a beer and a burger. His point of reference is probably Barry, who'd likely ask for a glass of water at best and be even more painfully out of place here than she is.

When they're alone, he turns to her. "So. What d'you need, Iris?"

"Ever broken into a Reynolds K75 vault?"

The way his eyebrow rises suggests that he's familiar with that particular model. "You mean like the one LexCorps had custom-made for their Central City office? Can't say I did. Wouldn't turn down the chance to have a go at it, though. Provided I'm presented with the right... incentive."

She huffs in outrage. "Really? You're negotiating a price now?"

Why is she even surprised? Leonard had been bargaining with Barry right from the start. Everything had always been a game of tit-for-tat, quid pro quo with him, all about debts owed and paid back, even when it was little else than pretext.

He shrugs lazily. "I don't work for free. Don't intend to start now. It's bad for business."

In a convoluted way, it even makes sense. But something about the way he looks, the subtle satisfaction on his face, tells her it's not _all_ about preserving his public image. "Something tells me you already have something in mind. Let's hear it, then."

Arms crossed on the table, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "I _might_ have an idea or two for updates for the Cold Gun. Not a lot of people capable of making the necessary adjustments and trustworthy enough for me to hand them the gun, though. Perhaps Cisco could have look."

It's not an unreasonable thing to ask. She wonders if she should press him for guarantees that those adjustments won't be anything that will end up hurting her brother more than the gun already does, but the few times Kid Flash and Captain Cold went against each other, Wally was fine, and she trusts Leonard to know which lines not to cross.

The thought stops her short. Jesus. She's getting as bad as Barry.

Biting her lip, she pretends to mull over the suggestion even though she already knows that she'll agree. "Yeah, I suppose that could be arranged. Provided this outing doesn't end like the last time we teamed up with you."

He raises an eyebrow. "You mean when I saved your life from the mob and some corrupt cops?"

"I _mean_ when you sabotaged a truck and freed a bunch of dangerous metahumans. God, Barry was so furious with you." She finds herself smiling at the memory. It shouldn't be something that amuses her. It wasn't funny when Barry came back to S.T.A.R. Labs after Mardon and the others had escaped, bruised and hurting, blaming himself for trusting Snart. Reeling from the dichotomy of Snart betraying him but killing a man to save his life.

In hindsight, though, it's hard to remember Barry's angry frustration, the force of his disappointment, and not realize it meant he cared about Leonard and was angling for his redemption even then.

Maybe Leonard has arrived at the same conclusion because he averts his eyes. "Not enough that he learned his lesson."

His voice is hard and full of reproach, the sort of anger that she's only too familiar with. She smiles sadly. "You saved his life, Leonard."

When he turns towards her, there's a moment when he doesn't guard his expression and allows her to see all the anguish and the sadness.

"Didn't say I learned my lesson, either," he counters harshly.

She doesn't think about it – she reaches out across the table and puts her hand on top of his, giving it a brief, firm squeeze. His knuckles are bruised and torn up, making her wonder what he's been up to. He gives her hand a pointed look, but makes no move to pull away from the touch, and she's the one who eventually draws it back, oddly embarrassed.

She doesn't understand why she feels the way she does about Leonard: the sympathy, the strange kinship, the perhaps misplaced trust. The unexpected need to be close to him. It's as if Barry's feelings for the man have been projected onto her. If anything, that knowledge should make her distance herself. The realization that Barry cared about Leonard far more than as a redeemable villain or even a potential ally, and that Leonard in turn has clearly been struggling with his conflicted emotions for Barry, should provoke some sort of jealousy. Anger, perhaps.

But she's past anger, finally, and she has no interest in going back. It makes her feel a little less lonely to know that there's someone out there who shares her pain of losing Barry. Who feels... maybe not exactly like she does, but similar enough to understand not simply her loss but also the way she feels as if a possibility has been wiped out, a future derailed.

Leonard's voice startles her out of her thoughts.

"Alright, Iris, why don't you tell me more about the heist? Get me up to speed?"

The pun teases a tired smile from her.

"Yeah, sure. Okay," she begins, grateful for the distraction. "Here's what's going on..."

#

By now, Iris should be used to the unique kind of anxiety that comes with sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair at S.T.A.R. Labs and listening in while someone she cares about risks their lives, but she doesn't think it's the kind of thing she'll ever get used to. It's a different kind of worry than when her dad or Eddie were on the job, both better and worse because having access to the audio feed means she has reassurance when things go right, but it also means that she can do nothing but sit by and listen to every nerve-wracking moment when everything goes wrong.

She's been through this on countless occasions with Barry, continues to experience it with Wally all the time. She just didn't imagine it would be quite the same when it's Leonard on the other end of the coms that he only accepted, reluctantly, when Cisco overrode his "sorry, I don't work with a team" objections by reminding Leonard that he'd have been shark food if Barry hadn't been able to contact Cisco at A.R.G.U.S.

Cisco frowns at her. "Whoa, sit down, you're wearing a hole into the floor. You're not usually that fidgety."

Leonard's voice coming through the speakers saves her from having to try and explain her anxiety.

 _'I'm in. Walk in the park, like I said.'_ Satisfaction warring with condescension in his voice, and Iris breathes a sigh of relief that turns out entirely premature, because five seconds later all hell breaks loose.

There's noise and shouting and something that sounds suspiciously like gunfire, and Iris' pulse ratchets sky-high.

"What the hell is going on, Snart?" Cisco yells at the same time as Iris says, "Leonard, tell us what's wrong!"

She feels her dad's eyes on her from across the room, the piercing look and the frown on his face. Any other time, she'd be worried about finding herself on the wrong end of an interrogation, but right now she doesn't give a damn that her fear to lose yet another person is written all over her face.

 _'Not the time for a chat, kids,'_ Leonard says, and the relaxed drawl from before is gone, replaced by a sharp, hassled urgency that does nothing to calm her down.

A second later, the speakers go dead, and it takes Iris a moment to understand that it's not just Leonard being quiet, he must have _shut off the coms_.

Cisco slams his fist hard on the desk, making his keyboard rattle. "That fucking asshole! I can't believe— No, actually, I can, because that's exactly the kind of stunt this dick would pull."

Iris buries her face in her hands and tries to remember how to breathe.

It's hard not to imagine everything that could have gone wrong, Leonard captured and beaten or already bleeding out on the white marble floor of the LexCorps tower with a gunshot wound in the middle of his forehead.

Cisco's rants are nothing but a faint buzzing in Iris' ears. She knows he probably thinks that Leonard fucked them over, that he's disappearing with the vials of Kryptonite they had him steal, and she wishes she could believe that because then she'd be furious instead of scared. And anything would be better than the icy grip her fear has on her, numbing her insides.

She jumps when Wally puts a hand on her shoulder that's probably meant to be comforting.

"Guys, I know they have power dampeners set up around the building, but maybe I should go and check?" he suggests.

Iris wants to agree, but it's too dangerous. They all concurred that Wally had to sit this one out. It's why they brought Leonard in in the first place. Whatever happened, they can't risk her brother as well.

She feels overwhelmed, fighting against the tears burning in her eyes, and her lungs are tight and stinging with every breath.

Static crackles from the speakers, and they all jump when Leonard's voice fills the room. _'Well, that was fun. Afraid you're out of luck if you were counting on them not realizing they were getting robbed. Unless those guards develop a spontaneous case of amnesia when they wake up.'_

It's not that funny. Actually, it's not funny in the slightest, but Iris can't hold back the laughter bubbling from her throat, more hysterical than genuinely amused. The relief she feels is so strong that it makes her light-headed and dizzy.

Her dad pushes forward, leaning on the desk and hitting the button of the microphone with unnecessary force. "Get your ass back here, Snart," he growls.

 _'Testy.'_ Leonard chuckles. _'Guess I should prepare myself for a_ frosty _reception.'_

The apoplectic expression on her dad's face makes Iris wince, and Cisco seems to be about to start yelling, so she cuts in before either of them can get another word in. "Just... come back to the lab, okay? And be careful. Don't stick around, and no unnecessary detours."

 _'Wouldn't dream of it.'_ The noise of an engine starting roars from the speakers. _'See you in a bit. Over and out.'_

It takes Leonard twenty minutes to make it back to S.T.A.R. Labs, not enough time for Iris' pulse to calm down or for the dreary echoes of the fear she felt during those endless minutes of radio silence to subside.

When he steps into the Cortex, he's alive and whole and visibly unhurt, all swagger and self-satisfaction, Cold Gun raised and lazily resting on his shoulder like he fancies himself some outlaw gunslinger in a bad western. Iris steps towards him and is greeted with a cocky little smirk, and something about his attitude makes her snap, emotions boiling over.

Her palm makes a satisfying smacking sound as it connects with his cheek, the force of the blow rocking his head to the side.

"Don't you fucking dare do that again."

She stands close enough to see how his jaw works when he grinds his teeth and faces her again, hand coming up to gingerly touch the corner of his mouth. The amusement is gone from his face, like shutters coming down, and the stare he fixes her with is cold and hard. Somewhere in the back of her mind, his icy fury registers. Under different circumstances, it might evoke a sense of fear, because this man in front of her isn't Leonard Snart, reluctant time-traveling anti-hero who trades banter and cracks puns, but Captain Cold. Ruthless. Implacable. Dangerous. But she hasn't been scared of Cold since he played himself off as a caricature super-villain online, plastering threatening video messages to the Flash all over the internet. And right now she's too shaken, her feelings in turmoil, and her self-preservation instincts sluggish and failing.

"I thought you were dead. I can't—" Her voice breaks. _— lose any more people I care about,_ she doesn't say.

His glare remains frosty for a few seconds before it softens. He tilts his head. "I'm sorry." It's a grudging concession at best, but something in the way he refuses to meet her eyes makes her think the regret in his tone in genuine. "All that... chatter in my ear was a distraction I didn't need when things went south."

He grimaces, and she wonders how close a call it really was. It makes her want to hug him, but she can feel the watchful gazes of Cisco, Wally, and her father burning into her back, and she doesn't think Leonard would appreciate a hug much more than he did the slap, so she holds herself in check.

They spend some time going over the mission. Mostly, it's Cisco babbling excitedly, his earlier anger forgotten once Leonard hands over the vials, neatly boxed and unbroken. Her dad only cuts in to ask a few questions, and Leonard's replies remain terse and snarky.

Iris is quiet, crashing down hard from the adrenaline high and barely paying attention to the debriefing. Ever so often, Leonard's eyes flicker towards her, but she's too tired to try and read his guarded expression.

When she notices that the conversation around her is dying down, she gets up. "I'm going home, guys. It's been a long night."

Truth is, she doesn't think she'll be able to get any sleep, and she isn't entirely sure if she's glad that tomorrow's Sunday and she has the day off, no distraction from replaying tonight's events and her own reactions over and over again.

"I can give you a ride."

The offer is unexpected, but not unwelcome. She can't imagine that Leonard has any more interest than her to rehash what happened, and she could use some company. Across the room, she can see her father tensing up, doubtlessly ready to object, so she cuts him off with her response before he has the chance to protest.

"Thanks, I'd like that." She gives Leonard a tentative smile.

He unholsters the Cold Gun, lips twitching ever so slightly when Cisco jerks back the moment Leonard reaches for the weapon, like he expects a blast of ice leveled in his direction. Leonard makes a show of putting it down on the desk with deliberate care. "I'll be back for this tomorrow. Remember what we agreed on. And Cisco? Word of advice. Don't mess with it."

"I thought I was supposed to mess with it," Cisco snarks back, his bravery rising a notch now that the gun is out of Leonard's hands.

Leonard levels a glare at him that's enough to make him roll backwards with his chair, hands raised in surrender. "Whoa, kidding. Don't get all murdery."

Her first real smile of the night steals unbidden on Iris' face.

#

The ride home is silent. It doesn't feel awkward, but not quite comfortable either, an odd undercurrent of tension between them.

Leonard parks the car down the street from the apartment building and accompanies her to the door. Leonard Snart, perfect gentleman – who'd have thought? Actually, Iris can't say she's surprised. She only wishes it was a longer walk, because there's something she has to say that she would have preferred to put off for a bit.

She takes a deep breath and steels herself, forcing herself to look at him.

"I'm sorry. For... You know. Hitting you. I was out of line." And she was. She knows she was. Leonard made the right call of switching off the coms when they became a risk, and her reaction had been out of proportion. He doesn't owe her anything, never asked for her to care for him or to spend the entire mission worrying about all the things that could go wrong. That connection she feels between them doesn't mean she has the right to burden him with her hang-ups over losing people.

His half-shrug is a show of faux nonchalance.

"Forgiven," he says. He makes the word come out grudging and snappy, but the eyes searching her face are full of warmth. Something about that contrast stirs her, makes her bolder than she thought she could be.

"Are you coming up?" She wraps her cardigan firmly around her body, hugging herself.

Leonard's face goes tight. " _Not_ a good idea."

His drawl is back, harsher than before, and she wonders if he realizes what a massive tell it is, how much of himself he's giving away.

"Why not?" she challenges, as if she didn't know all the reasons – just like she knows that not a single one of them is on Leonard's mind right now and the one thing that is, he will not voice. He hasn't mentioned Barry once since their conversation at S.T.A.R. Labs the day he came back with the Legends, like saying his name will somehow make it real that Barry's gone. The look on his face when he asked where Barry was and received only silence in reply still haunts Iris.

Predictably, Leonard has no answer for her.

He stares at her defiantly, like a dare, like he's waiting for her to realize why she shouldn't be inviting him into her home. When she raises her hand to his face, fingers curving against the same cheek she slapped earlier, he looks like he's ready to bolt. Tension is written in every line of his body, and she just holds her hand there, unmoving, until she feels it bleed away, until he's relaxing and the suspicion drains from his narrowed eyes.

This time, she's the one who leans in for the kiss, standing on tiptoes and seeking out his mouth with hers. She almost expects him to jerk away, but he doesn't. His lips open easily under her gentle pressure, hands coming up to cradle her face and pull her in.

His pupils are blown wide when they break apart, dark eyes flickering down to her mouth, and _fuck_ , she wants him. It's been too long and Leonard's always been so good at getting under people's skin in all the different ways. Turns out she's no more immune to his charms than Barry was.

It should be a sobering thought, but she's made her peace with it.

"Come on," she says with a nervous little smile, and when she turns back to walk inside, he follows.

The minute the front door of the apartment falls shut behind them, it's like he's a different person. He spins around and pushes her against the door, hands rough and possessive on her waist, finding the slip of skin between the silk of her blouse and her skirt. His mouth claims hers with a fresh kind of hunger, all uncertainties gone.

It's impossible not to let herself be swept away by the unabashed display of desire. She doesn't care about the door handle digging into her back or the empty holster chafing uncomfortably against her leg when he presses his thigh between hers.

She was seeking comfort before, chasing some kind of connection, but suddenly it's about something else entirely, all raw _want_ and the need to feel skin against skin. It's desperation and frustrated, almost angry desire, biting kisses and pulling at each other's clothing until fabric tears. His shirt joins the signature blue parka on the floor, and her fingernails rake down his back and arms, over hard muscles and old, raised scar tissue.

He hisses in pleasure and reclines back on the bed, stretched out on display as he leans back on his arms. His gaze on her is hungry as it follows her every motion while she's unbuttoning her blouse.

When she joins him on the bed, he reaches for her and pulls her close. His thumb brushes over her lower lip, letting her chase it for a moment before his hand grips her chin and forces her to meet his gaze.

The hardness in his eyes is the only warning she gets before his words hit home.

"What about Barry?"

The world freezes around Iris, as if he'd made good on his threat from all those months ago of letting the core of the Cold Gun go critical. It feels like ice inside of her lungs, making it hard to breathe.

He looks up at her with a cool, expressionless face, and she wants to hit him. What kind of fucked-up strategy is this, she wonders, bringing Barry up in what he probably considers the worst possible moment? Is it supposed to be punishment? Or self-punishment, perhaps, trying to find the best, the _worst_ way to end this thing between them before it even begins.

It seems exactly like something Leonard would do, sabotaging a good thing for himself because he thinks he doesn't deserve it. It makes her heart go out to him as much as it makes the anger rise because, dammit, he's ruining it for her as well.

"What _about_ Barry?" she echoes harshly, before forcing her voice into a softer tone. "Are you saying you're not imagining him here with us? Between us? That you're not thinking about him every time you kiss me, wondering what he'd taste like? What it would feel like to have him?" She's not being fair, but fuck it, Leonard's the one who brought up Barry.

He draws in a sharp breath, and she knows she's got him. She knows he's thinking about it, that her vindictive, mean little jibe painted a mental image he can't shake.

Only, now she's thinking about it too, and she doesn't want to stop.

She straddles him, grinding down on his denim-covered cock. It pulses against her ass, and the remaining layers of clothing between them feel like an annoying inconvenience.

"He's such a good kisser," she whispers, right against his mouth, lightly brushing their lips together, darting out with her tongue only to pull back when he tries to chase it. "So damn good with his mouth."

When she sits back up and reaches down to unbuckle his belt, she's so giddy with want that her hands are trembling. Leonard's going commando, and as soon as she's worked the buttons of his jeans open and pulled down the zipper, his cock springs free, more than half-hard already and leaking pre-cum, the tip glistening with it. She lightly brushes across the slit with her thumb, watching Leonard's face go tight with tension, like he's holding on to self-control by a flimsy thread that's ready to tear apart. She wants to tear it apart, wants to see him stripped of all that control he's made such an essential part of his Captain Cold persona.

His erection twitches against her palm as she gives it a few experimental, tantalizing strokes. "Just imagine it, watching him kneel between my legs, eating me out. With that sweet, tight ass of his up in the air, just _begging_ for you to slide into him and fuck him."

With a sharp curse, Leonard surges up, and if she didn't know better she'd think that he was the one with the superhuman speed because suddenly she's on her back with him hovering above her. He doesn't bother undressing her, just pulls her skirt up and her soaked panties out of the way before he's pushing inside of her. A small whine escapes her throat, half-pleasure, half-pain. The breach is ruthless, on the wrong side of too fast, but the way his cock fills her up feels so damn good.

"Fuck, Iris. Would you like that?" he asks, and his voice sounds _wrecked_ , low and breathless and harsh. No trace of drawl, no hint of calculation. "Having us both? The two of us, sharing you?"

He buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting at the sensitive skin there until it's tender and sore, then soothing the bruise with his lips and his tongue while he fucks her with measured, hard thrusts that rock her body upwards. She reaches over her head, her palm pushing against the headboard to steady herself and avoid slamming against it.

His cropped hair rasps against her cheek, softer than it looks, when she turns towards him. "We'd be so good together, Leonard." She meets his rhythm, pushing against him, her free arm wrapping around his torso and clinging to him. His skin is slippery with sweat, flushed with heat under her searching hand. "The three of us. Barry's wanted you for so long, he'd be so eager to finally get his hands on you. Get you inside of him."

In response, Leonard subtly changes the angle so that his next thrust goes deeper, and Iris bites her lip. She's beyond talking now, no more breath left for anything more complicated than keening, broken noises and bitten off pleas.

He pulls himself up onto his forearms and looks down at her with desire swimming in his eyes, his mouth crashing down hard on hers again, swallowing her cry when her body shakes apart.

#

The morning sunlight turns Leonard's skin golden, illuminating pale scars and dark tattoos and the salt-and-pepper crop of his hair. He looks out of place in Iris' light-flooded bedroom, like he'd be more comfortable slinking back into the night where he belongs, dark back alleys and gloomy bars, with the glow of the Cold Gun painting him blue.

The harsh glare of the sun wipes out all of Iris' certainties, her assertiveness from last night, leaving her with a sick, nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Waking up next to Leonard who's stretched out on his back at the far end of the bed, the distance between them suddenly seems vast and impossible to breach, and Iris wonders if she ruined things last night. It was hot and satisfying and amazing, the kind of sex that leaves you exhausted and blissed out, but it's a problem when there are three people in a bed but only two bodies.

It's hard not to remember Leonard's initial reluctance last night, and how his demeanor had changed when she brought up Barry, and she can't shake the horrible idea that that's all there is to this, to _them_ , that the only reason he's here is because he's chasing some sort of _connection_ to Barry. She wouldn't blame him. She's not a hypocrite – it's been a factor for her as well, in the beginning. She started to trust Leonard because _Barry_ had trusted him, because of Barry's unshakable faith in the good in him. But that's not why she kissed him, and if that's all this is for him, she needs to put a stop to this now. She's had enough heartbreak to last her a lifetime.

"Stop it."

She turns her head to Leonard, but his eyes are still closed and he looks so still he might as well be fast asleep. The only thing moving are his lips. "Can hear you thinking from all the way over here. It's distracting."

She has to smile despite herself. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

His eyes open and he sits up, regarding her quietly for a moment, too intently, like he's trying to read her mind. Finally, he offers a shrug that looks far too casual for the close, prolonged scrutiny. "I'm a light sleeper." He looks away, occupying himself with fluffing the pillow. "Care to share what's been racing through your mind?"

The pun makes her think that he already has an idea or two.

"Last night—" She doesn't know how to finish the thought, but he goes all still and tense and she knows she'll have to push on if she doesn't want him to draw his own conclusions and leave. "When I was talking about Barry, that little fantasy was— It was hot. I don't need to tell you that. But I don't want this to be all about Barry. Because it's not, for me."

His expression is carefully neutral. "What do you want it to be?"

"Look, Leonard, let's be honest here, we both would like there to be three people in this relationship. But there aren't. It's just you and me. And if that's not enough—" Her voice falters. "If that's not enough, I don't think we should be doing this."

The way he's watching her makes her want to squirm. Makes her want to avert her eyes and pull the covers around her. It feels like all her vulnerable spots, physical as well as emotional, are laid open for him, defenseless, and she hates the sense of helplessness that comes with it. She reminds herself that he's already seen her at her most vulnerable, that he's allowed her to see sides of him most others never do, sides she's sure not even Barry had been privy to. But it's still hard not to balk as she waits for him to show a reaction.

"I'm not a relationship kind of person." He's hiding behind that drawl of his again. It's not a no, though, and he's not making a move to get up.

"You mean like you're not a hero, or not someone who offers his skills for free?"

Iris raises an eyebrow like a challenge, knowing that Leonard can never resist those. The unimpressed look he gives her makes her laugh, but the amusement doesn't last. "Maybe I'm the one who should stay away from relationships. Guys I'm with seem to keep dying or being wiped from existence."

"Been there, tried it. Didn't stick."

He reaches out and touches her, a curious fingertip wandering down from her wrist to the tip of her empty ring finger. Iris gently captures his hand and enlaces their fingers, slow enough that it gives him plenty of time to pull back. He doesn't.

"Barry's not why I'm here," he assures her, and she almost believes it. She wants to believe it.

#

Still, there are moments when she thinks Barry would make things easier, that he could bridge the gap between them in a way they struggle to, without him.

Leonard comes over for dinner and a movie, and it's perfectly fine as long as they're sitting on the floor, sharing boxes of Thai take-out and discussing semi-seriously whether it would be harmful or a boost to Captain Cold's reputation if he gave Iris an exclusive interview.

At some point, the last of the food is gone, though, and _Ant-Man_ is playing on Netflix. They've moved to the couch, feet pulled up, and Leonard is speculating how much more fun they'd have had on the Waverider if they had Scott Lang on board instead of Ray Palmer.

"Would have come in handy with the giant ant we fought in 3205, too," he adds, face twisting in disgust. "Not sure what it is with anthropomorphic animals trying to take a bite out of me. Can't say I'm a fan."

Iris laughs, and scoots closer, settling against him in a comfortable sprawl. It's nothing she thinks about doing, just a spur of the moment choice. She feels mellow and nicely full from dinner, and the couch is comfortable but Leonard's body looks more comfortable.

It isn't. Not when he all but _freezes_ , every muscle of his body stiffening where she's leaning into him. Like he's expecting an attack. All that's missing is his hand going down to his leg where the holster of the Cold Gun normally is.

Clearly, casually cuddling up to Captain Cold is not something that should be done.

"I'm sorry." She tries to scramble away, but the cushions are so soft that she keeps sinking back. At last, she manages to sit up.

When she looks at Leonard, he's frowning a little. "Told you I'm not good at the whole domestic thing."

If Barry were here, he'd know how to diffuse the situation. Bicker back in a way that would make Leonard smirk and forget about the awkwardness, or just push harder with a reckless grin and the knowledge that Leonard will indulge him. But she doesn't have the same sunny deposition as Barry, the hopeful smile that no one is able to resist for long, nor the familiarity with Leonard that comes from two years of going at each other with superpowers and guns and never once causing any lasting damage.

Iris shakes her head. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I can sit over there. It's not a —"

She's halfway across the couch when he catches her wrist and pulls her back towards him. "Not what I said." She's tense and stiff when his arms come up around her, drawing her against his body. "Just because it doesn't come naturally doesn't mean I'm not enjoying it."

He hooks his chin over her shoulder and trails his fingertips along her arms until she relaxes into his hold.

On an impulse, she arches her head towards his and kisses him. A quick peck that turns deeper and more intimate, his mouth sliding against her, teasing a moan out of her.

He doesn't let go of her when the kiss ends. "Trying to distract me from my human-sized animal induced trauma? Good job."

Iris snorts. "Sure, by making things as awkward as possible. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to win a gold star in psychology for this one."

His smile is unusually soft, almost fond, and when he reaches out and pulls a strand of hair from her forehead, fingers lightly brushing her skin, her heart skips a beat. "Nothing you need to worry about. I'll steal you a gold star, if you want one."

#

"What's going on with you and Snart?"

Her dad's voice is heavy with suspicion, and he seems so tense, like he wants to pull the gun and fire at _the idea_ of Snart getting too close to his daughter. "You seem awfully chummy these days."

It's not like Iris didn't know that this discussion was coming, she just wishes she could have delayed it for a couple of weeks or months – or possibly indefinitely.

"Dad."

He frowns at her snappy tone. "What? I can't worry about my baby girl hanging out with career criminals?"

"I don't even know where to start with that sentence. One, I'm not actually a little girl anymore. Two, Snart is mostly playing for our team now. And three, we're not 'hanging out'."

Shit. It wasn't supposed to come out like that, as an afterthought, a casual 'actually, it's worse than you think'. But maybe it's better this way. It's not like there was ever going to be a good way to tell her father that she was sleeping with a man he had arrested on more than one occasion, someone who once threatened his adoptive son on live broadcast.

The splutter she receives in response is almost satisfying, but for a moment she's honestly worried that he's going to go after Leonard right there and then for daring to touch his daughter. It takes a minute before the tension on his face loosens enough that she stops fearing for both his and Leonard's immediate safety.

"Let's forget for a moment about the fact that this is Leonard Snart we're talking about," he says, in a tone that suggests he has in fact no intention of forgetting about it now or anytime soon. "What about Barry?"

None of this is even remotely a discussion Iris wants to have, but this part? That's the worst.

"Barry told me to move on. And if you think for one second that Barry would object to Leonard being the one I'm moving on with, you don't know Barry at all," she argues fiercely. Her father looks like he wants to protest, and maybe that's what pushes her to add, "In fact, if Savitar had succeeded in killing me, I think you might be having the exact same conversation with Barry that you're having with me right now."

She says it mostly to rile her dad up, even if it's true. She expects him to blow up at the implication, to get all indignant and defensive on Barry's behalf.

Instead, he all but deflates, looking at her for a long moment before rubbing his palms across his face, heaving a tired sigh. "I know. I kind of saw it coming with Barry. Not with you, though."

"Just be glad Barry's not here, because I can promise you, you wouldn't like how this thing would work out," Iris tells him, and she knows it's mean and unnecessary to point this out, but the old anger is back again, sharp and stinging all the way down her throat like spicy food she swallowed too fast. She loves her dad, and she know he only means well, that he wants nothing but to protect her, but he makes her so _mad_ sometimes.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Sweetie, I promise you, I'd gladly accept Barry's terrible taste in men and all sort of... unconventional lifestyle choices, if there was any chance at all to have him back."

And just like that, her need to scandalize him vaporizes, and the anger melts into sadness. It would take effort to contain the sob that's stuck in her throat, and it comes out in a rush. "I miss him so much, Dad. It's so hard. Having Leonard around makes it... easier."

"Does he make you happy?"

She feels guilty for thinking of her life in terms of _happy_ , not without Barry, but she remembers throwing crisps at Leonard when he cheated at Scrabble the other night and the way he smiled into his coffee cup over some stupid pun she made in the morning, all the little moments. "Yeah," she says quietly, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. "Yeah, he does."

Her dad gives her a curious look. "Good."

But he's her dad, so of course he can't resist adding, "But nothing's gonna stop me from putting a round of bullets into him if he breaks your heart."

Iris wants to call him out for implying she needs someone to fight her battles, wants to say that he wouldn't pull this shit with Barry. Except, who's she even kidding, he totally would. She rolls her eyes. "If he hurts me on purpose, you can shoot whatever's left when I'm done with him. Otherwise, no one's going to shoot anyone."

#

Iris is in the middle of writing an article on price gouging in pharmaceuticals when she hears the front door opening and closing.

Leonard's had a key for a while now, ever since that time she was in Starling for a feature and Leonard broke in the day she returned to make her dinner. He'd faked reluctance when she gave him a key before she left to work the next morning, arguing that he didn't need one, like it was a blow to his ego as a thief to be expected to use a key when he had a perfectly good set of lock picks that did the job just as well. She knows it wasn't about that at all but rather the implications of domesticity setting him on edge, but she let it slide, mollified when he pocketed the key.

When she turns around, Leonard is leaning against the door frame, watching her with his arms crossed in front of him.

His expression is guarded, more so than usually. During the last few months, she's been learning his tells, the way the set of his jaw or a minute twitch of his lips conveys a range of emotions other people telegraph with their whole bodies. But right now, it's impossible to tell what he's thinking, and she knows that this level of caginess must be deliberate. It's making her nervous.

"Hey," she says softly, the quiet greeting filling the silence of the room. Some of the tightness bleeds out from his face, but there's still plenty of it left. "Long day?"

He gives a minuscule one-shoulder shrug, the non-verbal version of his casual 'peachy' brush-off when she asks him if he's okay and he doesn't want to get into it.

From experience, she knows that she'll either have to push harder or wait it out until he feels inclined to share more, and she's still considering which strategy might be better on this occasion when he says, "Mick asked me to come back on the Waverider."

And just like that, Iris feels as if the rug has been pulled out from under her. Her hand is shaking when she tucks a strand of hair behind her ears. She can't bring herself to look at him.

"Okay...? I—" The lump that's suddenly in her throat makes it hard to swallow. She's not going to cry, or beg him to stay. She won't. It's the sort of emotional pressure she'd resent coming from anyone else, if it were her planning to go away, and she's not going to be that person. But it's hard to keep her reaction in check, harder to make her voice come out evenly. "When are you going to—"

Leonard interrupts her before she can finish the question. "I told him it's not gonna happen," he says. A rush of relief hits her like a brick wall and when her gaze snaps up to him, his eyes are on her, focused and intent. "Told him the whole disappearing act wasn't an option." He accompanies the statement with a fancy little 'up and away' flourish. "That I got _strings_ in Central."

He inclines his head, continuing his appraisal of her. "Unless I'm misreading where this _thing_ with me and you is going."

There's something cautious in his tone, a wariness that makes her perception shift, and she realizes at once that this little spiel – the caginess, the way he led with Mick's suggestion rather than his response, the long-winded way to getting to the point – isn't him being a jerk or testing her reaction: it's genuine uncertainty.

Shutting the lid of the laptop, Iris gets up and walks over to where he's still slouching in the doorway. It feels a little like approaching a cornered, dangerous animal, frightened but lethal, and her heart aches imagining what happened to him that made him so unsure of his welcome where others would just take it for granted.

Her hand curves against his cheek, the touch feather-light and careful. She counts it as a win when he doesn't jerk away.

"Leonard, if you wanted to go, I wouldn't stop you." He instantly goes rigid, eyes hardening, and Iris presses on, fiercely. "But don't think for a second that I wouldn't rather have you stay here with me."

There's a moment when he seems to be holding his breath, like he's gauging her sincerity or perhaps waiting for the other shoe to drop, and she just keeps her hand still against his skin and holds his gaze. She tries to infuse the depth of her feelings for him into her look, wishing the particle accelerator had given her the power to project her thoughts into someone else's head so he'd believe her. Finally, she feels him relaxing under her touch.

"Good. Too late to change my mind anyway. Mick and the Legends are already on their way. Looks like you're stuck with me." He offers that cocky lopsided smirk of his, like insecurity was a concept he wasn't even familiar with.

"Hmm, I guess I'll just have to deal with it," Iris replies loftily, but her smile is so wide that it hurts.

He hums softly and pulls her into a kiss, his chapped lips moving against hers slow and searching and unhurried, a statement in itself rather than an overture to go further.

Iris loops her arms around his neck and closes her eyes, enjoying the moment and the rush of contentment. It's strong enough to drown out the anxiety and sense of loss that she's not been able to shake for so long now.

Maybe they'll find a way to get Barry back, or maybe they won't. She hasn't given up hope yet, and she knows neither has Leonard. But, for the first time since Barry let go of her hand and stepped into the Speed Force, Iris believes that they're going to be able to work things out either way.

End.


End file.
